


The Sinister Secrecy

by Lemony_Snicket (CompleteIndie)



Series: The Alleviating Aftermath [4]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, All the Wrong Questions - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/M, Ships take back burner, The Alleviating Aftermath AU, Unreliable Narrator, dark secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-08 12:34:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompleteIndie/pseuds/Lemony_Snicket
Summary: Dear reader,It is with great misfortune I am writing this, but this is the next entry in my research of the Baudelaire and Quagmires. This story will contain only betrayal and secrets, and is advised to not be read.Within this story, by the time it is done, will involve an argument, a runaway child, a chaotic fire, an amazingly well-made dinner, and a terrible, terrible secret that should have been said years ago.It is my sworn duty to report the tale of mythese children, but you have no such obligation. In fact, you shouldn't. You really shouldn't.With all due respect,(there's a signature that's stained with teardrops at the bottom of the paper, but you know it says 'Lemony Snicket')





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> To Beatrice
> 
> You made my life worth living  
> At the cost of your own.

There is very little in this world that hurts more than betrayal. To believe something over your whole life, only to have that reality, shattered. This is a hopeless feeling that lives you shaken, sometimes unable to cope. Sometimes, it is accidental, and could even be for the better. But that makes it no better. No better.

Betrayal is a fickle thing, like houses of cards. One wrong move, and the betrayal scatters, and sometimes it even has a part fall down an air vent, and then that betrayal can never be brought back to former glory.

Over the course of this story, you will read about a terrible betrayal, a secret that shouldn’t have been kept that was.

It is my sworn duty to report the tale of the Baudelaire children, as I’ve said before. Now, I’d advise you to burn your reading device, especially if it’s a Kindle Fire.

This story holds only tragedy.

* * *

Our story begins a tiny bit more than two weeks after the last story, _The Paradisaical Poem_. (Reading the Paradisaical Poem is not necessary, but if you have the time I’d advise it over this.) It happened to be movie night — the six children had decided to have a movie night each Friday, although each time so far it became a marathon. They were midway through the first Harry Potter film when they were startled, a word here meaning ‘They heard a knock on the front door on the secret library home’s entrance’.

This was surprising. This was a secret library, with a very complex secret entrance. Only two people would know how to get in—Dewey Denouement and Kit Snicket.

Quigley, being the only one not wrapped in blankets with their partner—barring Sunny, who had fallen asleep though—and bolted for the door. With it, he let in four people, and as Klaus paused the movie, they welcomed in the three people they recognized. Dewey Denouement, Kit Snicket, and their daughter, Beatrice Denouement. However, a fourth person stood there, hand on Kit’s shoulders. I do know who the man was, and I do know where he went afterward, and I do know the secret he was hiding from everyone else...and even the small item that was rested in his pocket, although he wouldn’t keep it hidden long.

“Kit!” The children said, rushing to and hugging the person that had come to look at as a parent. Kit hugged them back, and they hugged Dewey next. The man with his hand on Kit’s shoulder looked calm, staring at the scene of reunion with a somber look in his eyes, lamenting on how he missed his own shot for family.

“Who’s this?” Duncan finally asked, obviously talking about the guest Kit had brought.

“This is my brother, Lemony.” Klaus’s eyes both lit up in recognition.

“We found your typewriter in the Mortmain Mountains.” Klaus pointed out, remembering the burnt typewriter Violet had repurposed, the one with _L. Snicket_ printed on it.

“Yes. That was mine.” I said.

The kids looked at me, who looked at them back. All of them looked so familiar to me—Isadora looked like her mother, Moxie. Duncan and Quigley looked like their father James. Klaus looked like Bertrand, even little Sunny looked like her mother, as did Violet.

Looking at them, I froze. For the first time, I was meeting these children. I had lost so much, this was my only chance at redemption, a word here meaning ‘Making things right with the Quagmire and Baudelaire family lines’.

“It is nice to meet you children. You’ve likely heard this countless times, but you all look so much like your parents.” i said.

“You knew our parents?” Isadora asked.

“Yes. In fact, I knew them well. Moxie was in fact one of my closest associates. She wasn’t part of V.F.D. when we met, but she eventually got into the organization on her own feet. She tried to buy The Daily Punctilio at one point as well. Would have been good in her hands, I imagine.” I said, pondering for an instant. _Would’ve made my death harder to fake though._ “She invited me to her wedding with James, in fact. She even asked me to do a speech.” I added.

“What about our parents?” Violet asked, and I thought about my answer.

“Me and your parents have a very long history, but if it puts anything into perspective, I gave your father the ring he used to propose. Maybe someday I’ll tell you about it all.” I said. Silence froze.

“Now.” I finally interjected, a word here meaning ‘broke the awkward silence’. “The reason I came here. I have been devoting myself to your family case, Baudelaires, out of respect to your parents. And I recently heard from Kit where you were. I wish to interview you six, ask some questions. I was wondering if you would be available over the course of tomorrow.”

And so they were, and so I did. The next day, at nine o’clock sharp, I arrived, with my typewriter in grasp. I started to ask everyone questions, although the majority of these questions were for the Baudelaires—”I mean no offense, but I have my reasons.” I explained to the Quagmires.

The interviews cut into the majority of the day, and when it was all said and done, it was rather late. The children invited me for dinner, and while I desperately wanted to say no but I couldn't deny that I had been just getting by these past few weeks, a phrase here meaning ‘Being on the lam forced me to eat nothing but about three packs of instant ramen in the past two weeks’.

So, as I pulled an extra chair for himself, I ate with the children. Sunny had made ratatouille, a fancy dish comprises out of vegetables, and I finally understood just how good it was. I made a mental note to highlight Sunny's cooking in the documents, which I hope I did well with.

It was only a minute or so in when Isadora spoke up.

“Mr. Snicket?” She asked politely.

“Please, call me Lemony.” I said. “But what is it?” I asked, curious what the youngest triplet had to say.

“Can you tell us about how you knew our parents? Like, more about it?” She asked. I smiled a little. Ibwill never admit it outloud, but I rather like sharing stories.

With that, I told the six children about his time in Stain’d-by-the-Sea, even turning it into something a dinner theater show for them. I was remarkable proud of the kids, managing to figure out the twists early in. (Klaus and Duncan had been particularly acute, even managing to guess the truth about Hangfire halfway into the full story.)

Then, I told me and Beatrice’s story. The one I was dreading. But remarkably, it helped. Talking about Beatrice and my later life was therapeutic, a word here meaning ‘helped me come to grips with the loss and, while not move on, put myself together better’.

“...and, that was the last she ever saw me. And Bertrand, who had been respecting me and Beatrice, took the time to propose. I even left him the wedding ring in secret. They had a lovely wedding to which I was invited and attended in secret, and eight months after the proposal you were born Violet. The rest is history.” I finished.

At this point, everyone had moved to the couch area, Lemony standing and telling his story.

But Duncan’s eyes were wide. “L-Lemony?” He started, unsure of where to go with his point. “M-may I ask you something?”

I nodded, giving Duncan room to continue. _What has the boy so shaken?_

“You said Violet was born eight months after the wedding?” He confirmed.

“Seven after the wedding. But eight after the proposal.”

“I-is that…” Duncan froze. If he was wrong, he was about to piss a lot of people off he figured.

“Violet looks just like her mother, right? Spitting image?” Duncan asked for second confirmation.

I started nodding slowly.

“That timing doesn’t line up. Seven for sure, eight still isn’t really enough time. Either Violet was born early…” Klaus said slowly, looking at her sister, then me, then Violet again. And with that, Violet looked up, her eyes filled with the same realization as Klaus.

To believe something over your whole life, only to have that reality, shattered. This is a hopeless feeling that lives you shaken, sometimes unable to cope. Sometimes, it is accidental, and could even be for the better. But that makes it no better. It can be something you knew for years but never shared, or not.

I always think Bertrand knew. But he wouldn’t have cared. He treated Violet as though his own.

“Yes.” I finally, finally said, his voice cracking as the last little joy he had shattered.

“She’s a Snicket.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (As the editor, I'd like to interject that Lemony sent this document to my doorstep directly, a first, as well as the manuscript was completely covered in tears. This obviously has shaken him.)


	2. Chapter Two

I was remarkably close friends with a man who believed that freedom was almost… an illusion. And his reasons made sense.

He always stated that the world was revolving, not caring about those locked within. No matter what happened, the force of destiny cages us all and binds us to our own path.

This man eventually resorted to a life of crime simply for the thrill of it, and has taught me no fewer than forty seven ways to break out of jail, my personal favorite being pretending to be a guard that got tricked into the cell by another cellmate, a process involving studying habits, and names of other guards.

I seem to have lost my train of thought. Let me try this from the beginning.

###  [Chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386568/chapters/40926989): Chapter Two

I was remarkably close friends with a man who believed that freedom was almost… an illusion. And his reasons made sense.

He always stated that the world was revolving, not caring about those locked and I did it again. Third time's the charm.

###  [Chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386568/chapters/40926989): Chapter Two

I was remarkably close friends with a man who believed that freedom was almost… an illusion. And I see where he got the idea.

No matter what one tries to do, they cannot alleviate their own misery.

And as the silence rung out, Violet Baudelaire looked at Lemony in surprise.

“Y… you…” She stammered, unsure.

As you might recall, we left off with Violet learning was, in fact, not the daughter of Bertrand Baudelaire.

How she was, for all intents and purposes, a Snicket.

Lemony merely looked down, guilty.

“I'm sorry I never told you sooner.” Lemony said. Violet looked at him, and back at Klaus and Sunny. With one move, she started crying, and ran to her shared bedroom.

“I-I'll go check on her.” Isadora said, slowly following her friend.

Everyone looked at Lemony with different emotions. Sunny looked at him confused at to what was going on — she was older, but she likely didn't understand this yet. Duncan and Quigley looked at him with something like shame — to leave Violet all alone so long. But Klaus… he had a look of guilt himself. As to why, Lemont couldn't tell.

Suddenly, a shriek came from the bedroom, and Violet ran out from the hallway, bolting for the door, something in tow.

Isadora came out around the corner, clutching her side.

“Izzy! What happened?” Duncan asked, rushing to her sister's aid.

“S-she hit me…” Isadora said, not mad, but most certainly concerned for Violet.

“Where is she going?” Asked Klaus, who was grabbing the first kid, a step ahead of Quigley.

Silence rang out, filling the room, before Lemony responded. “If I know people at all, likely going  somewhere to vent and let off steam. Based on the circumstances, likely your old family home.” he said guiltily.

“Then we need to follow her!” Klaus said.

Lemony held him back. “No. She needs to learn something from this. Going after her will make it worse. She needs distance.”

* * *

Violet sat in the middle of a pile of ash. Here she was, the remains of her family home.

It wasn't a family home, was it?

Why had no one ever told her? Her mother made her promises to protect her family, yet no one would tell her who that really was.

She shook her head. She may not considered Lemony family, but Klaus and Sunny most certainly were. So were the Quagmires.

She got up to go back to the secret library. But she made it less than two steps when she saw them.

A group of armed men and women, all dressed differently. They had one thing in common though.

On each of their outfits, they had the logo of V.F.D.

Violet started running. And fast.

She just had to get to where there was witness...es…

She froze. She could already feel the tranquilizer dart one of them shot take a hold on her.

She collapsed, murmuring Klaus’ name.

* * *

Everyone was getting scared. Where was Violet?

Klaus had put Sunny to bed, promising Violet would be there tomorrow.

And now he was interrogating Lemony.

“Why did no one ever tell her?” He demanded to know. While Duncan and Quigley took care of themselves, mostly by getting sleep of any amount, Isadora stayed with Klaus, to give him one sense of normalcy.

Lemony sighed. “Because Beatrice believed me dead. She was even gonna name Violet after me had she been a boy, or so I’ve heard. What if Bertrand died before you were born, and you had a stepfather? Suddenly secrets make sense.” Lemony said calmly.

“Still. Violet's been gone for five hours. What if she's hurt?” Klaus yelled at the author.

Emotions are a funny thing, in as those emotions are strung tighter and tighter, a person's patience wears thin and thinner, and often ends in yelling.

Klaus Baudelaire was a perfect example of this. As he interrogated me, he had lost all his temper, and the only thing that kept him from attacking me was Isadora's calm words (and iron grip).

“Violet is as resourceful as her mothe-”

“Don't talk about our moth-!”

“Wait.” Isadora suddenly said, interjecting, a word here meaning 'choosing now to voice her thoughts to avoid Klaus harming a grown man’.

“What happened that night? From the song?” Isadora asked me, but I was confused.

“ _And then they took him, yeah they took him, took him far away. They took him in the dead of night beneath a moon of gray_.” Isadora recited, and Klaus’ eyes went wide.

Klaus, not held back, swung, knocking me to the ground.

“This is your fault! _Violet's hurt because of you!_ ” Klaus screamed at the author, the last string of emotion broken.

Isadora held Klaus back, whispering soft words of comfort into his ears. The boy relaxed slightly, enough that he stopped trying to hurt me.

“Find her.” Klaus finally said. “I'll help you… but we have to find her.”

I nodded. “You need sleep. I'm used to going without a few days. I'll start working while you sleep. In the morning, I'll show you my findings.”

Klaus nodded, and, hand in hand with Isadora, the two left.

With that, I sat down, pulled out my typewriter, and started typing leads.

* * *

By the time morning rose, I had about twenty sheets of notes done, which had been written on with both my typewriter and pen in the margins.

As Klaus came in, he made both me and himself breakfast, reviewing the notes.

“So…” he said, clearly heartbroken, “She's okay?”

“Relatively speaking. V.F.D. won't hurt her, but she isn't okay.” I replied. I could remember being kidnapped myself, how my parents never even got to say goodbye.

“Klaus Baudelaire. I promised to devote myself to you and your siblings. I'll get Violet back. I promise.” There was a pause. “And when this is said and done, if you want me to… technically, I'm Violet's dad… I could get your fortune and put it in another bank for you.”

Klaus looked at me in shock.

“Or… if you don't mind… You do all need a guardian and schooling...”

He cut me off. “Maybe.”

That was enough for me.

I was remarkably close friends with a man who believed that freedom was almost… an illusion. And his reasons made sense.

He always stated that the world was revolving, not caring about those locked within. No matter what happened, the force of destiny cages is all and binds us to our own path.

I'm pretty sure he was either wrong, or destiny was throwing me and the Baudelaires a bone, a phrase here meaning “giving us a shot’.


	3. Chapter Three

Before we continue our story, I believe it is time for you to play one of two games.

The first game involves closing this story and never opening it again, as this will make your life fun and carefree, much like games do.

If, for whatever reason, you want to play something else, turn off your device, or even just turn off the screen. Then go into a room with no windows, or any really dark room, and turn off the lights.

If you followed all these instructions correctly, you should be plunged into complete darkness.

I'll wait for you to come back. Stay there for a few minutes and question your life choices for reading this story.

 

Done?

Okay.

So, as you can imagine, being plunged into darkness is an odd feeling. I want you to think about that darkness again. If someone had been creeping up behind you silently, would you have known?

If someone's dead body was lying on the floor, would you have known?

If a dozen crows tried to kill you, would you know before they got there?

Now go back into the dark room.

If _I_ did everything correctly, you should be having a mild panic attack, in fear of a murder, a murder, or a murder.

Darkness is not an odd feeling now. It's a frightening one. Saying that the dark isn't scary is a bold faced lie. Darkness is plenty scary, for hundreds of reasons.

This is called nyctophobia, the fear of darkness.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled misery.

###  [Chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386568/chapters/40949942): Chapter Three

Violet woke up in a room with no lights. No daylight, moonlight, or even artificial light.

As you very well may know now, darkness is terrifying. And Violet not only could imagine people wanting to kill her — there are plenty that would.

She tried to move, but found herself… strapped down? With the very limited movement she had, she moved her hands to feel the seat. Metal armrests, and judging by the strength, leather straps holding her arms and legs in place.

She struggled more, but it was fruitless, a word here meaning ‘she couldn’t move with any real ability’.

With it, Violet considered her kidnapping. Sadly, she had a pretty good idea of who would kidnap her.

She could hear footsteps and murmuring outside the room she was in, so she stopped moving and started straining her ears to hear.

“So, you’ve been invited to that meeting but not me?”

“Since O died, the department has been careful about their words.”

“So why the volunteer? Why is she important?”

Violet’s eyes widened. So not only was she kidnapped, but judging by the high amount of people whose name starts with O in Violet’s life (I say that with a high amount of sarcasm, a word here meaning ‘Violet only knew one person in V.F.D. with an O as the first letter of their name’), and how the people out in the open seemed to be on his side, Violet faced the cold reality, a phrase here meaning 'finally confirmed her suspicions’.

She had been kidnapped by the fire starters.

The world suddenly seemed a whole lot darker.

Suddenly, she heard the voices started speaking about her.

"So, is the volunteer awake yet?"

"Yeah. She's probably eavesdropping." Said a woman's voice.

Suddenly, light flooded the room, and Violet clenched her eyes shut. Sometimes, it's better to be left in the dark.

"Good. You're awake."

* * *

“I can't let you come with me, it's too dangerous.” I said, arguing with Klaus Baudelaire.

The young boy was insisting on joining me in rescuing his sister, and while heartwarming, I was a highly trained professional who had been kidnapped myself on no less than seven occasions, including a baker who mistaken me for a bread roll, and I was in danger of going on this mission, despite my experience.

It was better to leave him in the dark about some things. The phrase "in the dark," as I'm sure you know, can refer not only to one's shadowy surroundings, but also to the shadowy secrets of which one might be unaware. Every day, the sun goes down over all these secrets, and so everyone is in the dark in one way or another. If you are sunbathing in a park, for instance, but you do not know that a locked cabinet is buried fifty feet beneath your blanket, then you are in the dark even though you are not actually in the dark, whereas if you are on a midnight hike, knowing full well that several ballerinas are following close behind you, then you are not in the dark even if you are in fact in the dark. Of course, it is quite possible to be in the dark in the dark, as well as to be not in the dark not in the dark, but there are so many secrets in the world that it is likely that you are always in the dark about one thing or another, whether you are in the dark in the dark or in the dark not in the dark, although the sun can go down so quickly that you may be in the dark about being in the dark in the dark, only to look around and find yourself no longer in the dark about being in the dark in the dark, but in the dark in the dark nonetheless, not only because of the dark, but because of the ballerinas in the dark, who are not in the dark about the dark, but also not in the dark about the locked cabinet, and you may be in the dark about the ballerinas digging up the locked cabinet in the dark, even though you are no longer in the dark about being in the dark, and so you are in fact in the dark about being in the dark, even though you are not in the dark about being in the dark, and so you may fall into the hole that the ballerinas have dug, which is dark, in the dark, and in the park.

And I lost my train of thought again.

###  [Chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386568/chapters/40949942): Chapter Three

“I can't let you come with me, it's too dangerous.” I said, arguing with Klaus Baudelaire.

The young boy was insisting on joining me in rescuing his sister, and while heartwarming, I was a highly trained professional who had been kidnapped myself on no less than seven occasions, including a baker who mistaken me for a bread roll, and I was in danger of going on this mission, despite my experience.

After insistence from his friends — a term here meaning 'literally everyone but him’ — the boy came to agreement.

So, with that very final decision, I left the secret library, and worked my way through the hidden labyrinth of tunnels and walkways that lie underneath all of V.F.D. and their work.

I had to find Violet.

* * *

I found out after the fact, but after I left, all of the remaining people in the underwater home — barring Sunny, who was still a bit too young to take on V.F.D., and Quigley, who offered to stay there to take care of Sunny — decided to come after me.

The three children all packed themselves a small backpack of resources, to prepare for their journey, a word here meaning ‘trip to rescue Violet’.

"Lemony wants you to stay, Klaus... but..." Duncan explained his reasoning. "He's going out to save Violet because she's his daughter. You're her brother, and you've been there. If Lemony can go, so can you."

"But you guys need to stay here. You shouldn't get involved."

"You'll need help. Trust us, it's fine." Duncan said, with a small smile.

"That's what friends are for." Isadora said, and Klaus smiled.

They were going to save Violet.

* * *

 

And so, this is where our story splits into three ways.

In a similar vein to The Alleviating Aftermath, you have three options. You can join Violet in Chapter Four, as she tries to work her way out of the dark area she is in. You can join me in Chapter Five, as I try to locate Violet via the underground network of tunnels. You can join Klaus, Isadora and Duncan as they try to locate Violet via traces that lie above ground. You can even go to Chapter Seven, where me and the children’s path intertwine with a bullet, or Chapter Eight with a terrible secret. Chapter Nine is an option, as we try to save Violet. Chapter Ten when a horrible calamity occurs. Chapter Eleven where a person gets freed from their troubles and starts fighting back. Chapter Twelve when a building burns down. Chapter Thirteen as the aftermath to his whole ordeal is revealed, and it’s epilogue like nature.

Or you can put down your device and stop reading. This story is nothing but dreadful, melancholy, and miserable, a word here meaning ‘dreadful and melancholy’.

This story will contain attempted murder, fire-starters, burnt buildings, unwanted reunions, wanted reunions, bloodshed, arson, and successful murder.

This story is not for the faint of heart.

But you already knew that.


	4. Chapter Four

The feeling of dread is a terrible feeling. Dread is like an oncoming train. You cannot stop it, you cannot slow it down, you can merely try and escape. And when you are tied to the tracks, you realize escaping dread is pointless. As time runs out your feet become heavier until they are set in concrete on the tracks. And then all you can do is wait to be destroyed, wait to be nothing more than blood and bone fragments.

Violet Baudelaire could vouch firsthand to this.

"Good. You're awake."

Violet looked at the figure. In front of her stood a figure that had jet black hair which made the dark room look pale. She had eyebrows that looked a little like curved question marks, and she had a cruel grin that could have meant anything. Her eyes, a jade like color, pierced through Violet.

“So, how are you Ms. Baudelaire?”

“Let me out of here, creep.” Violet spat. The woman simply smiled.

If you insist, Ms. Baudelaire.” The woman said, before loosening Violet’s fastens, much to her confusion.

“Let’s see if you are truly as good as the legends say. I’ll give you half an hour before I call the guards.”

Violet started running. She wouldn't hesitate.

She ran out of the room, away from this captor. Captor is a word here meaning ‘the person who both captured her and let her go free.’

She started looking for a way out. She noticed the air vent, and climbed up to their level using a chair.

As she crawled through the vents, she tried to overhear conversations and hear volunteers.

Dr. Orwell had a brother AND sister, the sister was dead as well. They all knew Violet was in the building. Trying to figure out the whereabouts of Lemony.

And the secret library.

_That's why they kidnapped me. To get the library._

She kept crawling. More voices. Statues, a town called Stain'd-by-the-Sea. Someone named Ellington Feint.

She took one wrong step — step being a figurative term, she was crawling through an air duct, not walking — when her luck in the vents ran out, a phrase here meaning 'The vent have way and she fell through’.

She fell, right onto a table surrounded by people.

Fire starters.

Who recognized her.

She started running in sync with some of the criminals, and she ran fast.

Down that hallway, left, left, right, right, up those stairs, down stairs, up, down, and through a polished silver door.

Suddenly, she heard a woman's voice over a P.A. system. Her original captor.

“Attention, this is your boss, E. It has been discovered that Violet Baudelaire has broken free of her restraints somehow, and is currently roaming the premises. Please find her, and bring her to me _unharmed_. If she is harmed, I will personally throw you all into the depths of hell. Thank you.” She said cheerfully, her voice crackling with static. Had it already been half an hour?

Violet started breathing heavy. The sense of dread was large.

She was surrounded by fire starters, in a dark room. She had an entire building, rivaling that in size of the Hotel Denouement it seemed, and she had to get out of here. Alive.

She considered her options. The fire starters were under clear instructions to not harm her. Just capture her.

So that could work well.

Violet started thinking, tying her hair back with her ribbon.

_If I can find some form of blade or something, I can blackmail them to let me out… it's a gamble, but…_

If you have ever done something for a long amount of time or with a lot of dedication, you know you can get immersed in an activity or thought process.

And not notice a villain sneaking up on you.

Violet screamed as a hand was wrapped around her chest, and another hand put over her mouth to muffle the screams.

“Hello, Violet…” cooed her original captor. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Violet struggled as the captor dragged her down a hallway, before throwing her into a room. At least that one had light bulbs.

Violet was thrown into the room, and the woman left, slamming the door behind her.

Violet frowned.

She could feel the overwhelming dread. She had one shot to get out of her, and she blew it… She would probably never see Klaus or Sunny or the Quagmires again…

Usually the word 'luck' conjures up thoughts of four leaf clovers, blowing out birthday candles or throwing coins in a pond. For Violet Baudelaire, luck conjured an image of how she and her siblings survived the endless torment that seemed to follow them since the fire that destroyed her family home.

And things had been fine these past few weeks. No fire, no fear.

But sadly, all good things come to an end.

And it seemed Violet’s luck had run out.


	5. Chapter Five

There is a feeling in this world that hurts like no other. It is the feeling of losing someone who you hold so close to your heart, especially when you love them more than yourself. And losing several mutual friends as they can't see you in pain.

It is that feeling of hopelessness, that feeling when you understand who your true friends are and others who were just acquaintances. That indifference, when it comes from the person who you love the most in the world after your parents, literally kills you from inside.

The feeling you get when your mind knows that it isn't going to be the same, but your heart yarns for that to become better. That breaks the heart and rips it apart.

It is a very terrible feeling.

This feeling can easily be brought back by going to places you used to spend time with those loved ones, and for me, I had spent far too many days, nights, and missions with Beatrice in these very tunnels.

I could remember with frightening clarity everything me and Beatrice had done in these walkways and tunnels.

The endless days and nights here, that I spent with Beatrice.

_ “Lemony…” She called to me. _ These hallways were silent. So silent.

_ “Yes, Bea?” I called back. The halls were dark, there was no lights. _ The lights and candles that had been installed about seven years ago illuminated the hallway clearly.

I doubled over  _ as her warning became clear  _ the memories flooded back.

Always. Every time I was here this happened.

 _"Lemony!” She screamed, rushing to me as the bullet_ wound still hurt after all these years…

The  _ blood  _ tears… they  _ poured _ .

I shook my head.

No.

I couldn't fall into despair. I needed to balance the sadness…

Despair.

Despair is a funny thing.

Despair can make things seem hopeless. It's a sense of dread that is not dread. Dread is entering a contest, knowing full well you aren't allowed to participate. Despair is entering that contest, and the rules get changed behind your back.

Dread is hard to deal with, but at least it can be predicted. Despair cannot be known until you have suffered.

And as  _ Beatrice held me _ I got up, I realized.

I had to keep going _fighting_. For her.

_ Beatrice, my love.  _ Violet, my daughter.

I shook my head. I had to get out of this place.

* * *

As I looked for a ladder, to run away from those tunnels, I started getting more and more memories of me and Beatrice, some good, some bad.

The night I had my first  _ kiss, Lemony?” Beatrice said, pulling away, blushing. _

The night I almost died in these tunnels. How Beatrice got me  _ an ambulance, this man's been shot!” _

How one day, I proposed to the woman I, now and forever, would always  _ love you, Beatrice. Will you marry me?” _

I… I…

In this world, there is many things people do they are not proud of. Whether it's robbing a bank because you have no money to feed your family of seven, or stealing a cookie from the family cookie jar because you were hungry, we've all done something we regret.

Crying in the middle of an empty tunnel with only my nightmares for company, mourning the loss of my lover… I'm not proud. But I did.

But I had to stay strong.

I had to…

You might have noticed that I have recapped a lot of my own personal journey through this tunnels. That is because of two reasons.

The first being I barely remember half of it, as I was in thought, thinking about Beatrice.

The second being that if I wrote down my entire journey, it would play something like this.

I turned down a hallway, walked down some of it, cried, and continued walking. I turned down another hallway, walked down some of it, cried, and continued walking. I turned down another hallway, walked down some of it, cried, and continued walking. I turned down another hallway, walked down some of it, cried, and continued walking. I turned down another hallway, walked down some of it, cried, and continued walking. I turned down another hallway, walked down some of it, cried, and continued walking. E.F. I turned down another hallway, walked down some of it, cried, and continued walking. I turned down another hallway, walked down some of it, cried, and continued walking. I turned down another hallway, walked down some of it, cried, and continued walking.

You get the point.

But in due time, it came to an end. I was about to finally step into the tunnel that led me where I was going.

The Daily Punctilio was built as a public entrance to a fire starters headquarters. Logically, Violet would be inside, as the only other place is Hotel Denouement, and surely Dewey or Frank would have let me know by now.

I climbed up, and looked around. I could see three people walking by. They were dressed in medium length beige jackets, and going into the building, so I had to assume they were fire starters. I started following one, hoping I could get inside unseen.

Of course, nothing is ever easy. The person turned to look at me.

There are many things you can do that might seem odd to a bystander. This can be called instinct. If, for example, you flinch when someone is about to hit you, that's instinct.

My instinct was a quick punch to the jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The editor has noticed that Mr. Snicket seemed to suffer from some form of PTSD, judging by his flashbacks, anxiety, paranoia, and terrible sleep habits. He has my best regards.)


	6. Chapter Six

I used to be close friends with a cartoonist, a word which here means ‘they drew and animated black and white rubber hose cartoons for a living’. He used to say that you could achieve anything if you believed hard enough, that it was simply awe-inspiring what one could accomplish with their own hands. How a lump of clay could turn to meaning if you strangled it with enough enthusiasm. He was later arresting for various crimes, including abuse of power, theft, fraud, and murdering, torturing, and dismembering his staff, in that order.

But his stance on belief was admirable. While perhaps not anything, a lot of things are possible. Asking someone on a date is one way. Trying to rob a bank is another. Writing a complete account of misery and treachery that befell a handful of children after their parents tragically die in a horrible fire that destroyed their entire home is another, although it’s hopefully too specific for you.

In the case of Klaus Baudelaire, Isadora Quagmire, and Duncan Quagmire, they believed they would rescue Violet Baudelaire before something truly terrible and tragic occured, ranging from injury to death.

I’m sorry to inform you ahead of time that they fail, and that terrible, terrible tragedy occurs.

But back to the present. (A figurative term, as this event happened many years ago.)

Klaus, Isadora, and Duncan were on a search for their missing loved one.

They had learned from Lemony in the previous day's that the offices for The Daily Punctilio were V.F.D. headquarters for the fire starting side — hence explaining the low quality news reports and framing the Baudelaires with so much ease — so they decided that going to the office was the best course of action, course of action being a phrase that here means 'plan to save Violet'.

The three quickly jumped aboard a trolley, the overly cheerful conductor announcing each and every stop, including, but not limited to, Briny Beach, the post office, the second post office, the mall, Dark Avenue, a pile of gum left behind by the mayor himself, the mayor himself, Town Hall, and finally, the burnt remains of the Baudelaire mansion.

Isadora looked at Klaus, who had a look of anguish. She knew what it was like. How Klaus had memories of his childhood before the fire, how everything in his life seemed okay. He remembered the tales that were told by him and his siblings — and the one that stood out to Isadora the most, despite the sadness of it, was his birthday. How it ended in ruin, and despite how next year would be better, it never was.

It's nice to believe that things will get better, and my old cartoonist friend will vouch, but it sometimes doesn't. No matter what I try, no matter how hard I believe, I am never going to be able to bring back Beatrice or Moxie or James or Bertrand. All I can do if mourn.

And Isadora was there to help AUS through his mourning.

“I-it's…” Klaus choked out, “...kinda strange… Only now do I…” He tried to get out, but broke down. But Isadora knew what he meant.

_ Only now do I realize they're never coming back. _

He never got a chance to mourn. From the second his parents died, he was put in Olaf's care, who then proceeded to never stop hunting him and his siblings down. The first time life was calm enough was these past weeks in the library, but he hadn't thought much about the past.

Seeing the mansion for the first time since Dark Avenue…

Isadora cradled her boyfriend in her arms, knowing full well what it was like. Quigley may had survived, but she knew her parents hadn't.

And with that, Isadora started crying too.

Crying is an odd sensation. Many things can cause you to cry, and I can honestly say I've experienced them all in my life. It can be tears of joy, when the woman you love so much says yes to your proposal, and it can be tears of sadness, when she leaves you at the altar, a two hundred page book on why she can't marry you and a ring in her place. It can be of pain, like when receiving a particularly bad needle, or it can be of hysteria, as a coping mechanism. It can also be of loss, when you lose someone you hold dear.

And the world was nice, and have them their moment. The conductor called no places. Duncan said no words. The birds were quiet, the cars stopped driving.

The world was quiet, at least for a time.

And so they cried, until they couldn't cry anymore.

* * *

 

They had visited many places since the mansion. The bank, Veblen Hall, the airport, and many more I don't feel like listing. Klaus and Isadora were in each other's arms, holding tightly. They, alongside Duncan, were having a discussion about just about everything, from apples to moose, near death experiences to zebras. (On that note, moose is a weird word.)

The three children felt safe around each other, and only wished that Violet, Sunny, and Quigley could have been there.

“Last stop, Daily Punctilio offices.” The conductor said finally. Even the crying had gotten to him with his peppy mode, peppy here meaning ‘overly happy and quite frustrating’, leaving his voice rather quiet.

As the three children departed the trolley, they started walking towards the entrance.

Suddenly, Klaus froze, and turned around.

If you read Chapter Five of this story, you likely know what happened, but if you haven't, then when you read Chapter Five, you will know what will happen. These mean different things. If you read Chapter Five than Six, then you already know what's about to happen to Klaus Baudelaire. But if you read Chapter Six than Five, you already know who Klaus is and how he got there.

So, with that, as Klaus turned around, I punched him in the face.


	7. Chapter Seven

Misunderstandings are a simple part of life, except they aren’t actually simple. Misunderstandings can range from minor consequences like getting the wrong kind of ice cream for a birthday party, to throwing a poison dart at a figure that you thought was one person but was actually another.

You have likely Chapters Four, Five, and Six and know what’s coming up. If you haven’t, read those. Or better yet, don’t read the rest of this at all.

But it was a simple misunderstanding. I assumed the trio going to the fire starter building were fire starters.

So my reaction when I punched Klaus Baudelaire was to be expected.

Klaus staggered back, recoiling from the punch I had delivered to his jaw.

“K-Klaus?” “Lemony?” “What the hell?”

Those were said by me, Duncan, and Klaus respectively, a word here meaning ‘in that order’.

“I-I’m sorry, I thought you were fire—wait.” I started to apologize, before realizing what they had done. “You all tricked me.” I said in realization, as the three kids had pulled the wool over my eyes, a phrase here meaning ‘the three children had followed me in secret trying to find Violet as well’. Honestly though, had the roles been reversed and Jacques and Kit were in danger, I would have done the same. I couldn’t blame the children.

“We had to. You can’t do this alone.” Klaus said, rubbing his jaw. I felt very guilty, but they didn’t seem quite mad.

“So, this is where Violet is, right?” Klaus asked me, hope in his eyes.

“There’s no other headquarters they could hide her in.”

So, with that, we went inside. Of course, we had to be very careful. I didn’t imagine they would want to use the air vents, but I had to ask.

“So, should we go through the air ven-“

“No.” Isadora and Duncan said, likely due to some form of claustrophobia from being in a cage and then a red herring statue than a water fountain, and Klaus didn’t need to say anything, as he was most certainly not going to punish his friends more than needed. That’s what friends are for.

So we walked, silently and carefully. The high abundance of printers made things easy, of course. They were old printers, and the whirring and clicking was annoying, a word which here means ‘me and the children couldn’t have had a conversation if we wanted to’.

Finally, we made it to a dark room at the very back, labelled ‘Head Reporter’. Underneath this logo however was a V.F.D. logo, so we stepped inside. Inside was a normal office, barring the V.F.D. carpet along the floor. We pulled up the carpet to find a secret entrance into a secret headquarters.

We stepped inside, and we knew Violet had to be nea—

With that, a bloodcurdling scream rang out.  _ Violet _ .

Klaus’ eyes hardened, and he rang down the hallway, seeking out his sister. We followed him, me being right behind, the Quagmires a step behind, as we went through the remarkably clean and polished headquarters. It reminds me of Stain’d-by-the-Sea in fact. A dark feel of order, two feelings and tones that don’t often mesh well.

It was only a few minutes when we heard a voice.

“Do it, darling.” A woman’s voice said. The voice sounded familiar, but it didn’t matter yet.

Klaus turned around. “Who are you? Where’s Viole-“

If you have been in a great deal of near-fatal experiences like I have, which I seriously hope you haven’t, but you have my deepest condolences if you have, you know that ominous feeling when something is very, very wrong. Whether you have this feeling because you suspect someone is about to die, a terrible betrayal is about to occur, or a trap is right around the corner, this feeling feels the same, making it truly impossible to use it to your advantage.

I am very, very sorry to inform you all three happened at once. A betrayal had already occurred in a form, Klaus fell into a trap then and there, and a terrible death was about to occur.

Klaus fell to the ground, a bullet having been shot into his shoulder. Out from the shadows stepped two figures.

One figure was a tall woman with shiny green eyes, question mark eyebrows, and jet black hair. I should have been more scared to see this person, if not for the second person.

Violet Baudelaire. With a cruel grin on her face, and a smoking gun in her hand.


	8. Chapter Eight

Unless you have had a very fun and exciting life, in which case I envy you, there has always be cold silence in your life at one point or another.

I should explain. As far as my research shows me, I've been using an unknown phrase called 'cold silence’. It does have an Urban Dictionary description, as well as is the title of a movie, but Urban Dictionary takes it too literally — so cold that no one speaks — and the movie is action, not a phrase.

So, for the past years of my life, I have used cold silence with no one correcting me, making me finally doubt myself writing this and double check only to feel like an idiot. ~~ Good job Lemony ~~

Regardless, cold silence is a phrase I have coined that means 'silence that is caused or enforced by frightening, depressing or terrifying circumstances’. For example, there might be cold silence after a near car accident, when you swerved last second and dodged the oil tanker. There might be a cold silence when you find out you are terminally ill. There most certainly would be a cold silence if a loved one died.

Cold silence is often, due to the definition of the word, only in either near death scenarios or death scenarios. Me and Beatrice ourselves had many cold silences as we mourned the loss of various V.F.D. agents, and there was a cold silence after Beatrice rescued me from quicksand in Peru when we were eight years old.

The Baudelaires experienced cold silence when they discovered their parents died, or when Count Olaf struck Klaus across the face, or when Montgomery Montgomery died, or when Josephine Anwhistle faked her suicide, or when Charles was nearly killed, and if I had the time and emotional willpower I could likely chronicle every single of the many, many cold silences that plagued the Baudelaires, or even myself.

However, I am over fifteen thousand characters into this chapter, excluding the spaces, and I still haven't written anything of actual substance.

So to my original point. Unless you have had a very fun and exciting life, in which case I envy you, there has always be cold silence in your life at one point or another.

There was a cold silence as in the lives of the Baudelaires once more when Klaus cradled his shoulder that had been so kindly shot by his sister, the girl he had set out to find.

And Violet simply stood there, smiling.

~~'Smiling’ marks the 421st word and I have written forty two words of actual story. And I have the nerve to call myself an author.~~

The woman standing next to Violet laughed. “Lovely darling! Look how he fell.” She said in a cruel tone, and after a moment's pause, my eyes widened.

“E-Ellington?” I exclaimed, seeing the woman who had been in Stain'd-by-the-Sea so many years ago. “W-what are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I'm raising a child.” Ellington smirked, his question mark eyebrows raising.

“T-this is murder!” Isadora called out, stepping towards Violet.

“Darling, shoot her.” Ellington snapped, and Isadora Quagmire went down, a bullet in her shoulder as well. Whatever Ellington did to Violet made her a remarkably quickly and quickly remarkable aim.

Duncan, being the wisest of the bunch, stepped backwards one step. He didn't want to be shot next, which was a very fair and reasonable thing to want in life, unlike infinite money, or enjoyable sugar-free chocolate.

“Ellington. Why?” I asked, and Klaus, Duncan, and Isadora's eyes widened in realization.

This was Ellington Feint, the girl I had praised the day before.

“You're Ellington Feint.” Duncan said.

“Ding ding ding!” Ellington sarcastically said. This wasn't the Ellington I knew. “Give the boy his prize, darling!”

Sadly — or not sadly, depends who you are — Violet missed the cue. Duncan quickly moved and hid behind Lemony, much to my amusement, not that I said that.

“I meant shoot him, but don't bother darling.” Ellington said.

_ Darling. She keeps saying darling. _

“I come in peace. Don't hurt the kids, okay?”

“Deal. Put the gun on the floor darling, and kick it over to Lemony.”

Violet did exactly that, a small frown on her face. She kicked the gun to me gently, and I picked it up.

"There. You have my word for compliance, and I know you well Lemony. You never break your word. Never have, never will.” Ellington said.

Klaus’ eyes shined for a moment, not that Ellington saw, thank goodness.

“Ms. Feint… why are you here?”

“I knew Lemony had a soft spot for Beatrice's kids, so I kidnapped one to lure him in.” She said casually, as though I wasn't here. Although, to be fair, she was right. It worked.

“What do you need me for?”

“The Bombinating Beast. I need you to bring it back.”

“T-The Beast? I can't do that Elle, you kn-”

“Don't fucking call me that!”

“I can't summon the Beast Ellington. It would destroy the city.”

Ellington glared at me. She knew that, of course. She just didn't care that much about the hundreds of lives in the city.

“You will summon it, or I will have Violet shoot everyone here. Probably first that annoying kid behind you, then the girl, then her brother, than you. Then herself perhaps…” Ellington commented, as if musing to herself. I gritted my teeth. Definitely not the Ellington I almost fell in love with.

“Fine. But why can't you do it?” I asked. I could feel it inside me, the power to summon the Beast itself. I could already tell Ellington the answer to my own wrong question. I knew.

“Because without the statue, only you can. The power to summon the Beast is in your blood now.” She said.

Wait.

My eyes darted to Violet. She was my blood… meaning…

I had to keep Ellington from knowing who her father really was, thank goodness she didn't look like me or Bertrand.

“Fine. But not here. There isn't any space.” I commented. I had no intention of really summoning it, but I had to play along.

"I know. Darling, get the keys to the taxi. I know just the place.” Ellington said, smirking.

* * *

It is difficult to call someone the same thing when they are a fragment of what you knew them as. If you were close friends with Jacob Bush for years, and after years of a first name basis, Jacob became a killer and slaughtered your family, it would be hard to call him Jacob due to memories and emotional ties, so you would call him Bush.

It was the same thing that clicked into place as Feint and 'Violet’ drive us to a familiar building.

_ I'm sorry Dewey. _

Before us was the great pond of the Hotel Denouement.

Feint and  ~~'Vio~~ V iolet pushed me and the other kids out of the car and in front of the pond. I could have sworn I saw Dewey or Frank bolt inside, likely to call police or volunteers, unless it was Ernest to celebrate on my capture.

My capture. That felt very finally distinct to write, ominous.

Cold silence is quite applicable here.

Feint pushed me down onto my knees, facing the pond, tossing the gun to Violet.

“Do it.” She rasped into my ears. “Bring my father back.”

I closed my eyes, posed akin to a prayer. It felt like it would work.

“Darling, shoot Ellington!” A voice cried behind me.

I turned to see Ellington fall, a bullet through her leg, and a grin on Klaus’ face.

That boy is truly a genius.


	9. Chapter Nine

Cliffhangers are an interesting literary device.

When writing a fictional piece, you can use cliffhangers if you want your reader to continue reading, as they will feel inclined to see how the story goes. It can also be used in nonfiction, of course, but sometimes it will apply to a less powerful effect, and is normally harder to write.

I myself have used cliffhangers when splitting up my works into chapters and books, such as when the Baudelaire children nearly careened off a cliffside.

I left you on a cliffhanger, in the last chapter, when Ellington Feint, my former associate got shot by Violet Baudelaire in a turn of events.

Feint clutched her leg, as Klaus ran to his sister’s side. He ripped the gun from her grip, muttering words of comfort, as well as trying to cure whatever state Feint put her in.

“Goddamnit, blasted furnaces of hell!” Feint screamed, wheeling around, pushing me into the pond.

Being thrown into water is not often pleasant, as it’s either because you slipped and are currently drowning, were pushed and are currently drowning, or you got into a fight on the beach. As two of three of these situations involve drowning, being thrown into water is not considered pleasant.

But as I fell, I took it as a hidden blessing. I thought for a long hard moment, on how to help Violet, Klaus, Isadora, and Duncan, as well as stop Ellington Feint. Of course, I could summon the Bombinating Beast, and have it kill Feint, but that would most certainly cause complete chaos, a phrase which here means ‘would likely destroy a majority of the city, with no guarantee I could even control the beast’.

Suddenly, a wonderful idea came to mind.

I burst out of the water, gasping. Feint was holding the gun, Violet right at her side, as Feint waved the pistol randomly. I knew she was about to shoot one of the children, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.

Now, if you are a keen reader, you likely already have figured out what happened to Violet Baudelaire — Klaus most certainly did, due to a similar event happening to himself not too long ago. Violet had been hypnotised by Feint, with at least one of the keywords to force the hypnosis being ‘darling’, used as a trigger to issue commands and make the hypnotised person do the hypnotist’s bidding.

If I could figure out the word to completely undo the hypnosis state, I could help Violet, as Feint most certainly did not have the means to hypnotise Violet right here and now.

“Darling, take the gun from Ellington!” I said quickly, distracting Feint. She turned to shoot me, but Violet stole the gun.

“Darling, shoot dear old Lemony.” She said slowly, darkly. As if she had even planning this for years, which she likely had. Violet raised her hand with the gun.

“Darling, don’t shoot me.” I said quickly, and Violet moved her hand down.

“Darling, shoot.” Feint said.

“Darling, don’t.”

“Darling, do.”

“Darling, don’t.”

“Darling, don’t listen to Ellington!” Duncan called out.

Something tells me he got that from Dr. Orwell.

“Darl-...” Feint started, before realizing the uselessness of telling Violet to listen to her. She reached out and ripped the gun from Violet’s grip, aiming it closely at me.

“How do we break it?” Isadora asked me, but I couldn’t answer with Feint glowering at me. She had another trick, I knew it…

“Lemony. I just want my father back.” Feint said, a small tone of… heartbreak?

That was the final straw.

If you have ever been betrayed in your life before, you know that a person pretending like they did nothing wrong is insulting. Not only do they have the nerve to stab you in the back, but then they take the metaphorical knife and twist it.

“Please, I don’t want to f-” She started, but she swiftly got punched by me.

“Ellington Feint.” I said, coldly. “Do you know the truth about your father?”

She was silent. “I know he was Hangfire. But he’s my father Lemony. I have to bring him back.”

“The Beast is a great unknown in life, Elle. I cannot bring him back.” Lemony said.

“How do you know?”

“Ellington, trust me.”

Feint... no... Ellington was silent.

“Please Ellington. Just stop.” I said.

“You won’t bring my father back?” Ellington asked, resigned.

“No, Ellington. Armstrong Feint was both noble and wicked, and I want to help you, but I can’t.” I told her. And, for a moment, it seemed like a happy ending was on the horizon. That Ellington would accept her father’s death, and maybe even be nice to me and the children. That this terrible story was over. But this is a thirteen chapter document, and life is never easy.

You might think the story was over, but that’s not how the story goes.

Silence filled the room, a cold silence. Ellington frowned. And for a moment, I thought she was going to shoot me. But she turned around, as if resigned…

And she shot Violet square in the chest.


	10. Chapter Ten

Agony is a dark feeling, a feeling of intense pain or anguish.

Agony might be experienced when one is in terrible physical pain, such as when receiving surgery or having a tooth pulled, or when one is experiencing terrible emotional pain, such as learning the woman you loved for so long has died, their children abandoned.

In the inevitable case of this, two people felt terrible agony when Violet got shot by Ellington Feint in the chest. Klaus felt emotional agony, as he knew he would possibly be losing his sister after all this time. And Violet felt great physical agony as she felt a gun shot in her chest, most certainly hitting things bullets were not meant to hit.

Klaus gave loose a resonating scream, running towards Feint to attack her. Feint simply took quick aim and shot Klaus in the leg, him falling to the ground. Duncan and Isadora went to Violet and Klaus respectively to assist them, as Feint turned to face me.

“Lemony. You’re still the nosy brat I met in Stain’d-by-the-Sea.” She scoffed. “To think we were friends.

“I was never nosy, I had a job to do.” I replied coolly, looking at Feint.

“So?” Feint retorted. I could see Violet coughing. I had to get this done and over with.

“I need you, Lemony. Only you can do it. Unless you had a child, but, we both know you’ll never have a child.”

If only she knew how much dramatic irony was at play right now. Simply put, dramatic irony is when a person makes a harmless remark, and someone else who hears it knows something that makes the remark have a different, and usually unpleasant, meaning. For instance, if you were in a restaurant and said out loud, "I can't wait to eat the veal marsala I ordered," and there were people around who knew that the veal marsala was poisoned and that you would die as soon as you took a bite, your situation would be one of dramatic irony.

And now, this was at play.

“Now.” Feint said. “You will summon the Beast…” She said, trailing off, unspoken threats in her voice. An unspoken threat can be worse than a spoken one, because you never quite know what will be done exactly.

“Not right by the wate—“ I started, but Feint punched me.

“Now, or I shoot your daughter!” Feint started. “Or, Beatrice’s I guess… you care about her like a daughter… Oh.”

The saying ‘the cat is out of the bag’ means tha a surprise has been leaked, or revealed, and has absolutely nothing to do with sticking calico cats into brown paper bags, or any type of cat into any type of bag.

This saying applied when Ellington Feint put two and two together — the reason Violet had been distressed and out in the open alone, my quick move to rescue her, me trying to stall and keep her uninvolved.

Feint laughed.

“I won’t do it if she’s hypnotized you know.” I said reluctantly, as with the cat out of the bag, trying to hide it from Feint was pointless.

“Be glad I only have one bullet left, Lemony. Because the stupid orphan made her ignore me, she’s useless like this anyway. The keyword is statue.” Feint said, which Klaus quickly used. As did Duncan. And Isadora.

Violet’s mind returned to her, which is not to say that her mind waltzed to the Hotel Denouement and jumped into her skull, but rather she gained control of her mind and her memories.

She recoiled in pain, caught off guard as to the bullet wound in her chest.

And as Ellington Feint aimed the gun at Violet Baudelaire, I knew I had stalled as long as I could.

I no choice but to summon the Bombinating Beast, or my daughter would die today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to edit as per Mr. Snicket's requirements on what chapters event occur in.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Hangfire refers to an unexpected delay between the triggering of a firearm and the ignition of the propellant. This failure is common in firearm actions that relied on open primer pans, due to the poor or inconsistent quality of the powder. Modern firearms are susceptible also. The delay is usually too brief to be noticed, but can be several seconds.

A hangfire should be suspected whenever a firearm fails to fire, but has not clearly malfunctioned. In modern firearms, it is more likely that the round is a dud, a word here meaning ‘bullet that will never fire at all;, but it is important to delay removing the round from the chamber. If a hangfire has occurred, a round initiating outside of the firearm could cause serious injury. If the operator believes that the firearm correctly cycled a fresh round and the action is not visibly jammed, the correct procedure is to keep the firearm pointed at a safe target for thirty seconds, then remove the round. This rule is usually not followed in combat, where being without a working firearm is the bigger risk.

However, the phrase "to hang fire", a similar but different term, means to delay in progressing, for example from one task to another.

So there I stood, hanging fire, knowing that my options were limited. Klaus was basically crippled for time being, Violet was bleeding out, and me and the Baudelaire’s lives were being driven by the cruel whims of the unpredictable madman that was luck.

“You have to the count of three, Lemony.” Feint said to me, as I hanged fire once more.

“One.” I clenched my eyes.

“Two.” I voiced my inner thoughts, as if declaring some twisted prayer.  _ Please let the kids be okay, bring that beast here… _

“Thr-” Feint stopped, looking as the water rippled and twisted, the very ground beneath it shaking. Her eyes shined bright.

“Yes!” Ellington Feint screamed in a very final declaration of her success. “YES!”

The water rippled and thrashed, and Duncan and Isadora both looked at the water, the silhouette within. That was the thing that almost claimed them at sea, the one that Hector succumbed to…

And out it soared.

It was incalculably long, incalculably big. Boundless, a harbinger of death with eyes of immense hunger. It resembled a seahorse, in the same way a hawk resembles a chicken. It had dark green scales that rose and soared, as though each and every scale had a chattering mind of its own. It sent waves of pure chaos rolling to the edges of the pond, and it let out a horrible screech, a phrase here which means ‘a loud, buzzing noise that could be heard for hundreds of thousands of miles, echoing from the Hotel Denouement to the edges of the Mortmain Mountains’.

“YES!” Ellington Feint screamed in joy, and with her not watching, I rushed to Violet’s side, checking the wound. While it went through her chest and was pouring blood, I prayed for small miracles, a phrase here meaning ‘the bullet didn’t hit any of Violet’s vital organs’.

As the Beast soared, Ellington Feint turned to me. “You’re no longer of use to me, Lemony.” She smirked. She aimed the gun at me, and fired…

Hangfire refers to an unexpected delay between the triggering of a firearm and the ignition of the propellant. This failure is common in firearm actions that relied on open primer pans, due to the poor or inconsistent quality of the powder. Modern firearms are susceptible also. The delay is usually too brief to be noticed, but can be several seconds.

Feint’s gun fell victim to a hangfire.

She threw the gun on the ground, and it spun, before finally, the gun fired.

And hit the Bombinating Beast.

Of course, a being as old as time, a living metaphor for death, would not be harmed from a bullet.

But it would be made mad. The Bombinating Beast twisted, sending a wall of water towards Ellington Feint. It thrashed, knowing her goal. It sent wave after wave, nearly drowning her.

When the water subsided, the ground was cracked, water damage ruining the buildings and trees. But the Beast was gone, and Ellington was out of bullets.

She screamed, glaring at me in anger. She started walking towards the Hotel Denouement. Likely for more bullets.

I raced after her, praying Klaus, Isadora and Duncan could help Violet.

Inside, I saw Ellington.

She had been quick. She had two of the three Denouement triplets on the ground, the third backing away, although which ones were Dewey, Frank, and Ernest, I had no clue. The lobby was moving back, in terror. She likely just disarmed and detained two grown man in around ten seconds, so it was to be expected, but still, is everyone useless?

Ellington Feint pulled out a silver lighter from her pocket, a gleam in her eyes not unlike Olaf’s.

“If I can’t have what I want, Lemony, no one can. I will burn this Hotel to the ground, and volunteers and villains alike will perish in agony!”

And so, as she lit her lighter and tossed it into the back, catching an entire table of paperwork belonging to the triplets, things were looking very unfortunate indeed.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Fire is a terrible thing. It engulfs and destroys and it devastates everything it touches, whether it's marshmallows or people.

Fire would hesitate at nothing to destroy your home, your belongings, and your loved ones, and I know first hand, to this day, that I suffer nightmares from burning buildings, as do the Quagmires and Baudelaires.

So seeing the reception desk of Hotel Denouement catch on fire in mere seconds, a bright flame around out of control, I could only be surprised by how effortlessly Feint did it.

Ellington Feint turned around. The wild, unhinged look in her eyes proved the countless years since I last saw her changed her irreversibly. The Ellington Feint I knew was dead…

And I killed her…

I couldn't dwell. I had to get help. The last Denouement — Dewey, it was Dewey, because he said Frank and Ernest tried to stop her — stood by my side.

“It's been a while Snicket.” Dewey said, an over dramatic tone in his voice.

“As to you, Denouement.” I replied, using an over-the-top French accent for his last name. Old habits die hard.

Feint rushed towards me to hold me down, but Dewey grabbed her, twirling her. Was Dewey…

Dewey. For all of your talent, you need to learn a time and place. I don't care how effective of a distraction it is, no dancing with fire starters in your burning lobby.

Dewey twirled Feint, before pushing her back towards the desk. Dewey pulled out his cell phone quickly, ringing 911 when Feint got up.

“Hello, official fire department. How may we help you?” A small voice came out.

“Hotel Denouement is on fire. This is Frank Denouement, the manager.” He spat in — makes sense why he would claim to be Frank, seeing as he was legally dead — as Feint got up. “Gotta help my brother, please hurry.” He added, just dodging a punch from Feint.

I looked around. I pushed Feint down to the ground, as Dewey got his brothers up. I knew Ernest wasn't completely evil. I was pretty sure the Denouement triplets were all trying to peace keep, to be honest, but Dewey never told me outright.

Feint turned and looked at me.

“Lemony.”

“Ellington.”

There was silence, the only sounds the sprinkler system and the sounds of sirens.

There was a look of resignment in Ellington’s eyes.

“Lemony?” Ellington said, and in her eyes, I could see it.

True guilt, remorse. And suddenly, I could see her reasoning. She just wanted her father back. She had spent only ten years with her father before he was cruelly ripped away from her in his own descent into madness. She spent two years trying to save him, and the next countless years trying to bring him back.

I would have done it for Jacques.

“Yes, Ellington?”

“The song was called  _ Black, Brown, and Beige _ . Goodbye, Lemony Snicket.” Ellington said, and she pushed me back with monumental force, a phrase here meaning ‘enough force to push me out the entrance door’. Two things came to my mind then and there.

There is very little in this world that is more satisfying than solving mysteries that have haunted you and made you wonder since you were young, although sadly not many experience this feeling. Whether it is because of not having mysteries to solve or not solving the mysteries, many people never experience this in their life.

So, as Ellington pushed me backwards towards the entrance of the Hotel Denouement with monumental force, two questions in my life had been solved, effectively meaning I had finally completed my research in Stain’d-by-the-Sea.

The first was the name of the song that Ellington used to play on her music box, which was the song  _ Black, Brown, and Beige _ by Duke Ellington, a jazz singer from the 1920’s to the 1970’s, and it holds a verse that, while not by the original intention, is still applicable at that time.

_ Often we feel weary _ __   
_ But he knows our every care _ __   
_ Go to him in secret _ _   
_ __ He will hear your every prayer

I am not a very religious man, and while the lyrics pertain to the Catholic God in the original song, it holds a very different meaning in a very specific scenario, and I would not advise using this in any essays about the song.

The first line,  _ Often we feel weary _ , can pertain to Ellington and me and our eventful lives. How we have traversed all the ground this side of the Mortmain Mountains looking for someone — me for the Baudelaires and Beatrice and the Sugar Bowl and a long list that I don’t want to type out in full, lest I go through an entire ream of paper, and Ellington for me and/or her father.

The second line is more cryptic, but it can mean that even after all these years, me and Ellington can still read each other like open books. We could still see the other’s mind as though we were telepathic, although I most certainly assure I am not, as that would have made my life several thousand times easier, although I suppose I can’t speak on Ellington’s behalf.

The third line can apply to V.F.D. We both go to the secret organization, sharing secrets, creating secrets, burying secrets. We go to V.F.D. in secret, and we became volunteers, neither of us scream when they tell us that the world is quiet here.

The fourth line is the most cryptic and loose in meaning, but I believe it can mean that no matter where we are, someone will be there to hear us. Whether that’d be Jacques, Moxie Mallahan-Quagmire, Kit, Cleo Knight, the Baudelaire children, Jake Hix, someone will be there to hear our worries and fears.

The whole verse can be viewed as a secret message in and of itself, a cryptic note containing cryptic clues to a cryptic life that you hide from the outside world, in hopes that no one will follow you into the dark twisting spiral that is life, in fear that if hey follow, they will suffer pain and anguish and misfortune, the three forces of nature that seem to gravitate towards me and my child, her siblings, my love, my friends, my family, and everyone I have ever come in contact with.

The second thing that surprised me was the extent Ellington Feint was willing to go to, the sacrifice she was willing to make, to be reunited with her father, Armstrong Feint.

So as she said goodbye, pushing me out the burning building, I knew her fate, that she would not be leaving the Hotel Denouement alive.

As I staggered back, I saw Ellington looking up, in a praying pose. I never knew if Ellington Feint was religious herself, although there was a possibility due how her namesake most likely was. If she wasn’t, she was giving a prayer to her father, likely forgiving her for what she has done to be there.

“Goodbye, Ellington Feint.” I murmured as the entrance of the Hotel swayed, and snapped, collapsing, locking Ellington Feint in the Hotel Denouement for the rest of her life, however short it may be.

And as the firefighters from official fire department, the police officers, and the ambulance arrived, as the Hotel burned away, Frank and Ernest’s hotel burning in front of them, Violet and Klaus receiving hospital care for the bullet wounds, I knew that Ellington was not as vile as she appeared to be.

Even to this day, so many years later, I come to the burned remains of what was once Hotel Denouement, and mourn Ellington’s death.

And even to this day, whenever I come here, the world is quiet.

That’s all I’m asking for.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

I have just gotten into a taxi, and I have ten minutes to type this final chapter.

It has been thirteen years since the events of Chapter Twelve, and I feel like I should just tell you everything that has happened over the years.

Ellington’s death was mourned, even by the children. But I think it hit me hardest. I should have done more for her.

Over the years, the children decided to start receiving an education, and moved into Prufrock Preparatory School. They would stay there over the school year and live in the secret library in the summer and after they graduate.

They also managed to clear their name, as well as mine.

I cannot tell them this, but there is a masquerade ball in three weeks time, and me, alongside Dewey, Frank, Ernest, and various other high ranking officials, plan on promoting the Baudelaire to the highest rank possible. They are the only ones that do not know.

Violet and Duncan got married eight years ago. Duncan had barely waited turning eighteen before proposing to Violet. His reason for waiting had been simple. He had a specially crafted engagement ring, created with one of the Quagmire Sapphires, made just for Violet. He even asked me for her hand in marriage, the gentleman he is. Quigley was best man was Isadora was bridesmaid.

Now, all these years later, Klaus and Isadora are getting married. They had waited so long simply because the two of them didn’t think to do it. They finally decided to when Isadora signed a document for the bank as Isadora Baudelaire, and upon being corrected, the two realized they should’ve married long ago.

So now, so many years later, Klaus and Isadora are getting married. Duncan is best man, Violet is the bridesmaid. I am hoping the marriage goes well, but I can not promise anything, as the event has not happened yet.

In fact, it’s why I’m in a taxi right now, heading to the altar.

Over the years, many things have happened, most notabl Violet and Duncan having children — twins, in fact, the first set of twins I’ve met in a while, despite knowing three sets of triplets — and the names made my heart burst. Bertrand Jacques Quagmire and Moxie Kit Quagmire. After my siblings, and their own parents. They both look so much like their parents, but of course, nothing simple. Bertrand is most certainly going to look like Violet and vice versa, a phrase here meaning ‘Moxie will look like Duncan’.

I am almost at the altar, so I must leave this behind on the taxi seat next to me. My kind editor will pick it up and publish this document, entitled THE SINISTER SECRECY, and will share it with the world.

The world is quiet here, at least for now.

With all due respect,

Lemony Snicket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I wrote this all in just short of ten minutes, for the most accurate length, considering Lemony’s in-universe restrictions.)
> 
> (And it’s done. I plan on writing more for this series, but I hope you all enjoyed this story in the time since I started.)
> 
> (Season Three encouraged this whole thing, and I am glad to say that things will be mostly fortunate, although nothing in the Baudelaire’s lives is ever perfect.)
> 
> (Sadly, still not sure what to do with Quigley or Sunny, as I can’t write them with quality. Hmm...)
> 
> (So yeah. Huge shout-out to TheFlyingBowser, Vague_Faint_Distortions, and The_Firebird as well as the various fantastic denizens who chose to be anonymous. Sorry if I missed your name, I’ll fix it if you want me to.)
> 
> (With all due respect,)  
> (CompleteIndie.)


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